


in the second kingdom (there is only us)

by shadowdrift



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Confusion, Frottage, Kidnapping, M/M, Underage Sex, predatory behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowdrift/pseuds/shadowdrift
Summary: Shortly after Dimitri's breakdown during the quelling of the Western Rebellion, Felix meets an older Sylvain, who offers him both secrets and promises. When Sylvain takes him away from Faerghus in an effort to protect him, Felix has to make a difficult decision about his future.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 30
Kudos: 129
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	in the second kingdom (there is only us)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stress this enough: please check the tags and the prompt below before reading. 
> 
> For the FE3H Kink Meme prompt:
> 
> Via time shenanigans, postcanon Sylvain, who had to kill Felix on the battlefield is mentally scarred by it, meets a newly disillusioned 15-year-old Felix. He decides he's going to keep him.

Felix will not cry. He will never, ever cry again. 

This is what he tells himself when Glenn does not come home from Duscur. 

That is what he tells himself after seeing Dimitri transform into a beast and destroy everything that once existed between them. 

This is what he tells himself after he returns from quelling a rebellion to a father who takes one look at him and _doesn’t ask_ because he knows he won’t like the answer. 

He will not cry because his tears are wasted on a brother who will never return, on a prince who mindlessly slaughters, and on a father who glorifies pointless death. 

Instead of crying the night after his return from quelling the Western Rebellion, when his father leans across the table and quietly tells Felix his brother would be proud, Felix throws down his fork and leaves to pick up his sword. He decides to put everything he feels into his blade and beats a training dummy until it splinters under the abuse. 

It doesn’t make him feel better, but at least he’s moving forward, which is more than can be said for everyone else in his life. 

***

On the backdrop of Felix’s return, autumn begins to wind down. The sparse snowflakes that fall from the sky increase in number until a light blanket covers the ground. The air transitions from crisp to brittle and everything green wilts so rapidly, it is as though winter has sucked the life from the land itself. 

Winter’s destructive force is no novelty, but Felix sees it more now than he ever has before. When he walks outside to cool off after a lengthy training session, he sees ugliness in places he never noticed before. Everything is crumbling before his eyes and no one seems to care but him. 

As his boots kick up snow, he counts the moons until spring. Then he counts the moons until he can leave Fraldarius and finally escape his father and the manor as a whole. 

His walk is supposed to be short — a quick loop around the grounds to cool him off — so he has no cloak. Because he does not plan to stray from the grounds themselves, he left his sword at the training grounds. He is woefully unprepared for anything to go wrong, which is foolish, because Felix now understands that everything goes wrong when you least expect it. 

This is proven when, just before he turns around to head back inside, he notices someone leaning against a tree, watching him — someone at once familiar and strange. Felix stares at him for a moment, then looks to see if any of the Fraldarius guards have noticed him. No one has, which means that this man successfully evaded detection. Felix will have to scold his father into scolding the guard, because there’s no excuse for such sloppy work. 

He holds on to that thought, because it’s more steadying to think of ways to fix this situation than it is to ruminate on his uncomfortable realization: the man looks a lot like Sylvain, if Sylvain were older and cared less about attracting women. His cloak is tattered, his boots are worn, and he looks like he spent the past few nights in the wild. Whereas the Sylvain he knows artfully musses his air and keeps his face smooth, this Sylvain’s hair is in need of a cut and his face has a few days worth of stubble on it. 

Most unsettling of all, he isn’t smiling as he watches Felix approach him. 

Felix stops a safe distance away. The wind picks up and turns biting. He tries not to shiver as he speaks. “Miklan?” he asks, even though the facial features are all wrong — even though he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. 

The laugh he receives in response is bitter, as cold as the air around them, and when he hears it, Felix fails to suppress his shiver. 

“That actually hurts,” says the man in a voice that does belong to Sylvain, in a tone that could almost be playful, were it not for the edge that creeps in around the words. 

“Sylvain,” Felix tries again, attempting to sound sure of himself even though he’s sure of nothing. He wishes he had been smart enough to carry his sword. Silently, he vows to never go anywhere without it again. 

“In the flesh.” The man who might be Sylvain pushes himself off of the tree and gives Felix a smile that screams _wrong, wrong, wrong_ for reasons that Felix can’t discern. He steps forward and Felix tenses. He thinks about calling the guards, but the man stops before he gets too close and whispers, “Look at you,” in a tone so broken that Felix’s stomach drops. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Felix takes a step back. He speaks harshly and glares, but the effect is lessened by the way his teeth chatter. 

“You’re cold,” the man responds, his smile dropping. He unclasps his cloak and pulls it off of his shoulders to hold it out. “Take it. Then we can talk.” 

Felix eyes the cloak, then looks back at the man who could be Sylvain. His shirt is thin, not suitable for the season at all, and by the looks of him, he won’t be able to afford another anytime soon. The sight makes Felix’s gut twist uncomfortably. He’ll freeze long before Felix does. He hesitates, then asks with as much attitude as he can muster, “Why would I accept that from you?” 

The man smiles again, this time in a way that seems genuinely fond. “I wish I got here sooner. I could’ve…” He trails off with no intention to finish his sentence and steps forward again. 

Felix tenses. He hand moves to his side out of habit and finds no hilt. 

The man drapes the cloak over his shoulders. Felix holds his breath as the man’s hands move to his neck to clasp the cloak at his throat. He expects the man to touch him, brush against him, accidentally or otherwise, but the man takes care not to make physical contact. 

Felix knows he should shove him away, should call for the guards, but he can’t shake the feeling of familiarity. He knows, somehow, that this is really Sylvain and something is very wrong. It makes him hold his tongue. 

It makes him want to help. 

He breathes in the scent of the cloak, anticipating that it will smell like cloying perfume, but all he smells is earth and the subtle scent of something vaguely familiar. 

All he feels is warmth. 

“I want you to have it,” the man says as he falls back and drops his hands. He looks Felix up and down, undoubtedly taking in how ridiculous he must look in an oversized cloak. “It’s the least I can do.” 

Felix raises his hand and grasps the fabric, unsure if he wants to pull it taut around himself or throw it off of his shoulders. He does neither. 

“I’m sorry,” the man adds mournfully. It’s a strange thing to say after he just gave Felix the cloak off his back. 

_Why?_ Felix wants to ask. 

Instead he replies, “You should be. You have no business showing up here unannounced and looking like you slept in the woods for the past week.” 

Sylvain’s eyes widen. Then he laughs. The sound is much warmer than it was earlier. “I missed you,” he murmurs. “So fucking much.” 

Felix doesn’t know what to do with that information. He hasn’t seen the real Sylvain since the funeral, but that’s to be expected; they aren’t children anymore. And he’s never met this strange version of Sylvain before. The statement therefore doesn’t make sense, but it bothers him to hear, especially because of all the emotion behind the words. 

When Felix offers nothing in return, the man looks beyond Felix to something behind him. Felix turns to see a soldier heading in their direction. 

“I should go,” Sylvain says. “Do you think you could meet me out here tonight?” He rubs his hand over his chin. “I’ll clean up a little. Should’ve already done that, but I just — I needed to see you.” 

“I’m not you,” Felix snaps, now feeling annoyed. “I don’t skulk around in the dark looking for an illicit meeting.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he replies quietly, looking at the soldier again. Then his eyes meet Felix’s. Felix looks down at his boot. “I’ll be here if you change your mind. And if you come, I’ll tell you everything. Promise.” 

With that, he turns to leave. Felix should do the same, but he hesitates. 

“Is it really you?” he asks the man’s back. With more hesitation, he ventures, “Sylvain?” 

“‘Course it’s me, Fe,” Sylvain calls without turning around. 

The use of his long-retired nickname loosens something in Felix’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. “If you’re really Sylvain, you know not to call me that,” he mutters. 

As he walks back to the manor, he hears Sylvain laugh. 

***

That evening, Felix intends to tell his father about his encounter outside. He’s willing to accept that somehow, it is Sylvain who paid him a visit, and if that’s true, he clearly needs help — coin, a place to stay, or at a minimum, a decent set of clothes. And if this is some kind of trick and it isn’t Sylvain, then his father needs to be aware of the threat. 

Unfortunately, the time of everything working out in Felix’s favor has long passed. After Felix has changed out of the cloak and his training clothes, a member of the house staff summons him to his father’s office. When he enters, fully prepared to describe his meeting with Sylvain, his father says, “I’m leaving for Fhirdiad tomorrow morning,” and the words die in his throat. 

“Why?” Felix asks, internally wincing at the way disappointment leaks into his tone. 

“I am needed there,” his father says, which Felix translates to, _Dimitri needs me._

He clenches his teeth against his gut reaction, which is, _I need you._ Instead, he does his best to scoff. “I would like to see the look on your face when you see that beast for what he is.” 

This statement doesn’t elicit the response that Felix wants. His father doesn’t grow angry or chiding; he frowns, confused, his eyebrows furrowing. “What beast?” 

“Forget it.” Felix turns on his heel to go. 

“Felix, please,” his father calls after him. “I would like to speak with you.” 

Felix pauses but does not turn around. 

“We have not spoken since —” 

“Don’t,” Felix says, balling his hands into fists and stalking out of the room. 

He decides he will meet Sylvain after all. 

***

That night, Felix packs Sylvain a bag. He gathers food from the kitchens, pilfers some coin from the treasury, and digs through his father’s clothing until he finds a winter-appropriate cloak he knows he will not miss. He stuffs it all into a satchel that Sylvain gifted him a couple years ago — a small test to see if he remembers. 

When he picks up the cloak Sylvain gave him, he hesitates before adding it to the pack. It’s too thin to be appropriate for the cold night and Felix has plenty of cloaks so there's no point in him keeping it, but Sylvain won't need it back now that Felix has found him something else to wear. He nearly leaves it in his room to keep it as Sylvain asked him to, but decides to add it to the bag in the end. 

Then he puts on his sword belt and sneaks his way outside, careful not to catch the notice of anyone except the guards outside, to whom he explains he's merely going for a walk. No one stops him or asks questions, and though the guards eye the satchel, they don't question him. 

Once free of the manor, Felix looks for Sylvain. He checks the tree where he found him initially, then walks the grounds. He knows Sylvain — regardless of his age or appearance — wouldn't change his mind about visiting Felix after giving his word; it's one of the few redeeming qualities he retained even after deciding that he'd rather run around with women than do anything useful. 

Felix therefore leaves the grounds entirely, stepping out of the gates and into the dark night, free from the eyes of guards. He looks around until he sees a low glow in the distance, indicative of a fire. Felix heads in that direction. The closer he gets, the brighter the glow, until he is able to make out the man sitting on a stump beside a makeshift pit. It's obvious Sylvain has been there for a while because the snow has been cleared around the campsite and there is a pile of ash beneath the log that currently burns. 

Sylvain looks up as he hears Felix crunching in the snow, happy to see him but not as surprised as Felix personally feels he should be. He made good on his promise to clean up. His face is smooth, his hair looks washed and artfully mussed, and as Felix approaches, he catches the subtle scent of soap. His clothes are the same, however, and he wears no cloak. 

He looks more like the real Sylvain now, if Sylvain were older and a little weather-worn. Felix does not find that fact all that comforting. It only raises more questions. 

"I knew you'd come," Sylvain says as he stands to greet Felix. 

"Here," Felix says, holding out the satchel. "Put the cloak on." 

Sylvain takes the bag from him, his fingers brushing over the top of Felix's hand in the process. "Felix," he murmurs, looking at him in a way that makes Felix avert his eyes. "Thank you." 

He opens the satchel, murmuring, “I remember this bag,” which helps Felix lower his guard, solidifies the feeling that this is truly Sylvain. Then Sylvain pulls out the cloak that's on top — the one he gave Felix. "Are you giving this back?" he asks. 

"I have no need of it," Felix says defiantly. 

"That's okay," Sylvain replies, pulling out the heavier cloak, then stuffing the thin one back in the satchel. "I'm glad you brought it with you." He sets down the satchel and puts on the winter cloak, tossing it over his shoulder and clasping it at his collarbone. The deep blue color is darkened by the night, adding a haunting flair to Sylvain's otherwise easygoing demeanor. 

"Much better," Sylvain assures him. 

That settled, Felix wastes no time in getting to the real reason he came. "Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?" 

"I promised, didn't I?" Sylvain asks, digging through the satchel once again. "Oh, you prepared. That's good." 

Felix huffs out a breath. He watches the white puff of air dissipate in the cold. 

"Well?" he asks as Sylvain. 

Sylvain sets the satchel aside and straightens to look at Felix — really look at him. Felix does his best to glare back at him. 

"Don't punch me for asking this," Sylvain begins. "But can I hug you first?" 

"No," Felix answers immediately, folding his arms to prevent Sylvain from giving him unwanted affection. 

"That'll make the ride awkward," Sylvain replies with a smile. 

"What ride?" Felix asks, growing more annoyed with Sylvain's way of talking around the important matters at hand. 

Sylvain whistles. From a cluster of leafless, snow-covered trees emerges a horse. 

"We have a bit of a journey and I only have one horse." 

"We?" Felix asks, an eerie feeling creeping up his spine. He has to resist the desire to take a step back, but he can't stop his hand from finding his sword hilt and resting there. 

"You and me," Sylvain elaborates casually, like he isn't suggesting that Felix should share a horse with a man who looks years older than he should and ride off into the night to who-knows-where. 

"That isn't why I'm out here," Felix says in as harsh a tone as he can muster. 

Still smiling, Sylvain steps forward, reaching out, and touches Felix's cheek. Felix flinches. Sylvain's eyes crinkle fondly. 

"I'm going to do what I couldn't before," he murmurs. 

Felix's chest tightens uncomfortably, his breath growing shallow, but he doesn't understand why. It isn't exactly fear, though he's afraid, nor is it discomfort, though he is far from comfortable. There's something about this situation that screams _wrong_ in a way that has less to do with Sylvain's appearance and everything to do with the way he speaks. There's an undercurrent in his voice that Felix doesn't know how to identify. 

He tightens his hand on his sword hilt but doesn't unsheathe it yet, because deep down, he knows this is Sylvain — doesn't know how or why, but foolishly feels he would be able to tell if it weren't. And he has always trusted Sylvain. "You promised," he says, the words coming out weaker than he wants them to be. 

"You're right," Sylvain replies quietly, his smile wilting until it's barely present on his lips, threatening to collapse into something colder. 

He takes Felix into his arms. Felix struggles against the hug, but Sylvain tightens his hold until Felix gives in and stops fighting against him. Felix drops his arms to his side. Sylvain does not release him even though Felix gives him nothing in response except for a small, startled intake of breath. 

"I'll tell you this much," Sylvain whispers, bowing his head so that his lips are close to Felix's ear. "I break promises now." 

Felix's stomach plunges. He curls his hands into fists at his sides but can't control his body — he shivers against Sylvain, who tightens his arms yet again, the hug now suffocating. 

As soon as Sylvain releases him, Felix acts on instinct, avoiding any deep thoughts about what is happening with Sylvain. He moves to pull his sword and attempts to step back. 

But Sylvain, who to Felix's knowledge has never studied magic, attacks him with a spell that erupts at Felix's feet. 

Everything goes dark. 

***

Felix awakens to daylight. His stirring aggravates a lingering headache, but that seems to be all that hurts. As he shifts against Sylvain, whose arm is tucked around his waist, he doesn't feel the protest of injuries. 

They are atop Sylvain's horse, and as Felix looks around, he sees that they are nowhere near Fraldarius Manor. The snow is heavier, the trees are sparse, and the ground is rocky. The wind is colder too, biting at his cheeks. That must be why Sylvain wrapped him in the extra cloak — the one he tried to give him. 

They are further north. He isn't sure how far. Gautier isn't this barren. 

"You're awake," Sylvain says, adjusting his hold so Felix can sit up properly, but not letting go entirely. 

"You attacked me," Felix accuses, though he doesn't struggle against Sylvain — not yet. He's alive and uninjured, so Sylvain must not want to do him harm. 

"Sorry about that." Sylvain dips his head to rest his forehead on Felix's shoulder, maintaining his hold on both Felix and the reins as he does so. "I needed you calm so I could get you away from there." 

"Why? Or will you refuse to tell me that, too?" Felix asks with more emotion behind the words than he wants to allow. He jerks his shoulder forward, away from Sylvain, the only physical protest he's capable of giving, unless he wants to hurl himself from the horse. 

Sylvain sighs softly from behind him, but doesn't attempt to lean on him again. "Because, Felix, you were right about a lot things, and we were stupid not to listen to you." 

That shocks Felix into silence. He can't remember the last time anyone told him he was right. Before Glenn died, he cried so often, no one took him seriously. After he died, no one wanted to listen to his frustrations over the cause — no one, other than him, would speak about his death without mentioning that he died for a purpose, _like a true knight_. And now, no one wants to hear what he has to say about Dimitri. His father didn't even ask. 

Sylvain always took him seriously, though. And that's all Felix has wanted — someone to listen, to believe him, to _care_. 

He takes a breath and leans forward, digging his gloved hands into the horse's fur. "Things like what?" he makes himself ask even though he dreads the answer. 

"I'll tell you," Sylvain says, another promise that Felix can’t trust. "But first, we need to get somewhere warm and safe. I've been riding all night. I'm exhausted." 

Felix cranes his neck to try to get a good look at Sylvain. He does look tired — bags under his eyes, smile worn down. "Fine," Felix agrees, and he tells himself it's because he has no choice, no way to fight back, no sword currently on his hip. But he knows it's more than that. Despite everything about this situation being off, from Sylvain himself to his decision to take Felix away, Felix can't help but care. Those feelings are too difficult to snuff out. 

"Thanks," Sylvain murmurs, his tone so grateful that Felix can feel his cheeks heating. He's grateful that Sylvain can only see the back of his head. 

"Where are we going?" 

"A small hut not too far from here. It's where I've been staying." 

"Where's 'here?'" Felix asks, once again eyeing the landscape. 

"Sreng." 

Felix's hand darts to his side out of instinct, but the gesture is useless without his sword belt. "Are you insane?" he asks. 

"Relax," Sylvain replies, giving Felix’s waist a light squeeze. "I know what I'm doing." 

Felix spends the rest of the ride to the hut looking for any sign of movement around them and reflecting on the fact that it takes more than a few hours to ride to Sreng. 

***

The hut is small, but it's clear that Sylvain has spent a good bit of time setting it up. Outside, there are piles of firewood, stacked neatly against the stone. Inside, there's a hearth, a bed lined with furs and blankets, and a small table with two chairs. There are provisions, too, although not enough to keep them fed for long, even when combined with what Felix packed into the satchel. There's a small pile of Sylvain's belongings as well, set in the corner — some books and a stack of papers — and a couple of lances set against the wall. 

One of those lances is the Lance of Ruin. It glows eerily. 

Felix looks at it, then looks at Sylvain disapprovingly. 

"I know, I know, but I can't risk it ending up in anyone else's hands." 

"Your parents —" Felix begins. 

"Still have theirs, don't worry." 

Felix doesn't bother asking for clarification this time. He eyes the lance again, doubting Sylvain's mind, if he left something so valuable in a hut in Sreng, of all places. 

"Here," Sylvain says, walking past Felix to drape a blanket over the relic. "That way we don't have to look at it." He then walks to the table to set out some dried meat. "You should eat. I'll get a fire going." 

Felix is starving, so he doesn't protest. While he eats, he watches Sylvain light a fire with magic. The sight makes him uncomfortable. 

Sylvain then busies himself with retrieving the satchel and Felix's sword belt from the horse, setting both of them beside the other weapons. 

By the time Sylvain kicked off his boots and dressed down into his underclothes, despite the still-present chill in the hut, Felix has finished eating. Without quite meaning to, he finds himself staring at Sylvain's body — how filled out it is, shapely and muscular, the low cut undershirt revealing the hint of scarring on his torso. He's older and honed by battle — if it weren't apparent before, it certainly is now. 

Sylvain grins at him. "I've come a long way, right? I look manly now." He flexes his arm, the action so stupid and yet so _Sylvain_ that Felix almost feels comforted. 

Then Sylvain gets into the bed and covers his lower half with the blankets. "Come here." He pats the bed beside him. 

"Why?" Felix asks defiantly. 

"To talk," Sylvain replies. "For a minute." 

Felix sighs but does as requested, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Sylvain. He glances over his shoulder. "What?" 

"I know all of this has been strange and I haven't been very forthcoming with you," Sylvain begins, lying back to stare at the ceiling of the hut. 

Felix huffs. "You haven't been forthcoming at all." 

"I know. And I'm sorry. I really am." 

He sounds sincere and Felix wants to believe him. "You have to take me back. They'll look for me." 

"I know that too." Sylvain shifts onto his side, reaching out to rest his palm on Felix's shoulder blade. "I'll take you back if that's what you want. Just — give me a couple of days. Please. I'll tell you everything and then you can decide if that's what you really want." 

Sylvain's hand is warm against his back. Felix is caught between wanting to shrug it off and wanting to keep it there. In the end he simply doesn't move. "You said I was right earlier." 

"Yeah," Sylvain replies. "I did." 

"Tell me something I was right about. And — I'll stay. For now." 

Because what's the alternative? Going home to a father who doesn't ask the right questions, to a prince who slays mindlessly, to a version of Sylvain who doesn't bother coming around anymore because he's too busy looking to get into trouble? Felix knows he's being foolish — childish even — in thinking so, but he can't keep the thought from passing through his mind: at least this Sylvain seems to actually care. 

Sylvain doesn't respond right away. Felix glances back at him again and sees that his expression is closed off, protected, hiding everything. When he's ready to speak, he meets Felix's eyes and his hand begins to rub small circles along his back, as though trying to comfort him. 

"Remember after Glenn died —" 

Felix flinches. He curls his hands into fists in his lap. Even a mere mention of his name brings up too many feelings, everything still so _raw_. He swallows, then swallows again, trying to force himself to remain calm. 

Sylvain sits up and shifts closer, his arms wrapping around Felix, pulling him into a hug. "I'll stop." 

"No," Felix says stiffly. "Tell me." 

Sylvain holds him even though Felix is tense, still facing forward. "After the funeral, you were so mad at your dad — I remember it so clearly. And you said, 'Chivalry begets the glorification of death.' Do you remember that?" 

"Yes," Felix says, tone tight. 

"And no one would listen to you." 

"You did," Felix says quietly. His eyes burn, but he refuses to cry. 

"I did then," Sylvain whispers. After a pause, he adds, "That's what you were right about." 

Felix doesn't understand exactly how he was right, but it doesn't matter. Just hearing that — acknowledgement of a future that would be marred by those words as though they were a prophecy — makes his shoulders quiver with the effort of holding in emotion. 

"You can cry," Sylvain whispers, holding him even tighter. 

"No — " Felix forces himself to say. 

His voice breaks, but he sheds no tears. 

***

Sylvain sleeps. Felix stays. 

He rifles through Sylvain's belongings to keep himself busy — flips through his books, looks over his papers. He takes a stack to the table and sits while he attempts to read them. The notes make little sense to him; they seem to be written in a cipher of some kind. When they were younger, Sylvain tried to get him to learn a code so they could write secrets to each other in between visits, but Felix had never bothered. He was too busy chasing after Glenn or Dimitri to care about memorizing symbols. He is able to make out dates, however, and two in particular make his stomach churn: The Tragedy of Duscur and the date he left with Dimitri to end the Western Rebellion. There are others, too, extending far into the future, confirming a hypothesis that Felix has been ignoring in favor of logic. 

When Sylvain awakens and sits up to run a hand through his hair in an effort to make himself presentable, Felix asks him: "You're from the future, aren't you?" 

Sylvain yawns, halfheartedly holding his hand in front of his face. "Give a man a chance to wake up before you start with the heavy questions." 

Felix is tired of being dodged. He stands, pushing back the chair quickly. It nearly topples. "I'm going for a walk." 

"Wait, wait, I'll come with you," Sylvain hurries to say, quickly getting up and hurrying into his clothes. 

They both pull their cloaks on and head out, walking in silence for several minutes, the snow crunching under their feet. Felix has to give Sylvain some credit. The hut is well-isolated; there are no other buildings as far as the eye can see. 

"You're right," Sylvain says after a while. "I'm from the future." 

It shouldn't be possible, not even with magic, but Felix has no other explanation. He has no choice but to accept it. He nods once, grim as he considers what this means — that the other Sylvain is still in Gautier territory, flirting and shirking his duties in order to have fun. That it took Sylvain years of growth and some kind of time warping magic to look at him again. 

"What happened?" Felix asks, because there must be a reason that Sylvain sought him out and stole him away — all those future dates, written in bold ink, foreboding on his papers. 

Sylvain stops walking so Felix does too. They turn to each other. Sylvain's expression is unreadable again, but this time his eyes betray his emotions. They are so serious, so _searching_ , that Felix can't bring himself to look away from them. 

Sylvain steps forward and runs his gloved fingers across Felix's cheek, then rests his hand gently against his neck. "You never left him," he murmurs fondly. "You stayed with him until the end." 

" _Who?_ " Felix asks, horrified because he knows the answer, because there's only one person he vowed to leave for good, to shun until the end — one person from whom he wants to escape. 

"Dimitri," Sylvain answers. 

Felix tries to jerk away, but Sylvain grasps his shoulders. "Liar." He shoves Sylvain as hard as he can, but he's too emotional to be coordinated, and Sylvain far too strong for a man who spent his youth avoiding training. He won't release him. 

"It's okay," Sylvain tells him. "Easy, Felix, I got you. Look at me." 

Felix stops struggling to glare at Sylvain, hating him because he brought him this news, because he now has to live knowing that he serves the boar, knowing that he forgets everything that happened at the rebellion. 

Sylvain takes his chin lightly in his hand and tilts it upwards. Felix opens his mouth to speak — 

And then Sylvain kisses him. 

It's confusing and makes no sense, but Felix finds himself surprised into silence, all protests stolen by Sylvain's lips. Felix does nothing, just stands there, being kissed, feeling the warmth of embarrassment spread throughout his body, his face heating, his emotions jumbling. 

Then Sylvain becomes more passionate, one hand migrating to Felix's back to pull him closer, the other grazing along his jawline as it comes to rest at the back of his neck. He slips his tongue between Felix's still-parted lips and Felix, not knowing what else to do, tentatively moves his tongue in response. 

Sylvain makes a small, whining sound in the back of his throat when Felix responds. It returns Felix to the present moment, yanks him out of his confusion and into awareness. He shoves Sylvain again, this time successfully breaking the kiss and forcing him to take a step back. 

"I love you, Felix," Sylvain tells him, sounding more serious than the younger Sylvain ever has. "The you of now, the you of the future — all of you. I'm going to fix it so you never go back to him. I'm going to protect you." 

Felix is too emotionally charged to parse through any of this. He folds his arms simply because it makes him feel defiant, somewhat in control. "I don't love you, and you are a fool if you think you could come here and convince me otherwise." His voice is too weak for it to sound convincing, but Felix soldiers on. "And you have to take me back whether you want to or not." 

"I told you I would," Sylvain says quietly, looking down, his hands clenched at his sides. Felix doesn't know if he's restraining himself from doing something stupid or if he's angry for being rejected. 

They're quiet as they walk on, this time keeping space between them, Felix thinking over and over again, _I won't. I won't serve the boar._

***

By the time he and Sylvain return to the hut, eat, and settle in for the evening, Felix is exhausted. Sylvain notices and ushers him to bed, telling him that he has to go out to take care of something. 

"What could you possibly do out there?" Felix asks as he undresses. The hut is much warmer now that the fire has had time to burn and, he discovers as he climbs into bed, the furs are very warm and comfortable. This Sylvain may not have the Gautier inheritance in his pocket, but he certainly scrounged up enough to pay for luxury bedding. 

"There's a reason we're safe here." Sylvain rummages through the satchel, pulling out some of the coin that Felix had packed for him. He holds up a single coin. "And it involves this." 

Felix gives him a skeptical look. 

"Aw, don't look at me like that," Sylvain says, pocketing the coin and sitting on the bed beside Felix. He brushes Felix's loose hair out of his face. Felix pushes his hand away. "I don't run around with girls anymore, if that's what has you worried. Someone convinced me to stop." 

"If you say it was me —" 

Sylvain chuckles, then pats his leg. "You're very convincing in the future." With a little hum, he adds, "You could even be convincing now." 

Felix knows he's blushing; he feels his face warm. Sylvain looks at him affectionately, his smile broad. 

"You may not run around with women anymore," Felix says, "but your tongue hasn't changed." 

"No," Sylvain murmurs, squeezing Felix's leg just above his knee. Felix's stomach flip-flops. "It hasn't." 

"I'm tired," Felix says, moving away and positioning himself as close to the wall as possible, his back to Sylvain. 

That doesn't stop Sylvain from crawling across the bed and kneeling over him to kiss his head. "Don't leave me while I'm gone, okay?" 

"Go," Felix grumbles, refusing to look back at Sylvain, lest his blush be exposed a second time. 

As soon as Sylvain is gone, Felix exhales and lies on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the crackling of the fire. He feels — confused, caught within a cluster of emotions that he doesn't want to analyze. He doesn't want to leave Sylvain because it _is_ Sylvain — Sylvain who listens and cares, who doesn't want to see him fall prey to a beast of a prince — but he knows it's the right decision. He is aware that he can't fully trust Sylvain, that his father is going to be tearing up the country looking for him, and that all the bravado he can muster can't keep him from caring about his responsibilities. 

And then there's the even more unsettling memory of the kiss. Felix touches his lips, then slides his hand beneath the blanket to squeeze his leg as Sylvain had, his body responding to his reenactment, embarrassing him all over again. Sylvain's actions imply that they were intimate in the future, and that knowledge makes Felix both frustrated and defiant — but also curious and ashamed. There are things he wants to know and things he doesn't, and the two continuously overlap. 

But he told Sylvain he'd give him more time. So he closes his eyes and eventually falls into a fitful sleep. 

He's awakened by Sylvain in the bed next to him, his hand beneath the blanket, on top of his stomach, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt. "Shhh. You were having a nightmare." 

Felix vaguely recalls a series of haunting images that begin to fade as soon as his eyes open. Unfortunately, the desire to burrow against Sylvain as he had many times before the tragedy does not fade. He refuses to give into that feeling, but he does turn onto his side to look at Sylvain. Sylvain's hand migrates from his stomach to his hip. 

The fire provides enough light for Felix to study Sylvain's face — how it has changed and how it hasn't 

"We were in love, you know," Sylvain whispers. 

Felix struggles to believe it. "If we were in love, why did I follow —" he cuts himself off before he says his name — before he gives voice to how his future self betrayed him. 

"No, don't do that — hey." Sylvain pulls his arm out of the covers so he can cup Felix's cheek. "I was the stupid one. I'm always the stupid one, remember?" 

Felix says nothing, but he tenses as he tries to weather this return to the subject of Dimitri. Sylvain notices, so he shifts closer, and drapes his arm over Felix, now whispering in his ear. "I left you, not the other way around. I thought — I don't know what I was thinking. About girls like always I guess. There was a cute professor — but it doesn't matter. I made one choice, Felix, and it set the course for everything, and I didn't stop it." His voice grows more emotional as he speaks, and when he finishes this explanation, he takes a deep, shaky breath. "I thought you'd come with me, and then you didn't, and it changed everything." 

Felix tries to make sense of his ramble. "A professor — at the Academy?" he asks. "Then why are you here now?" His words are weak, however; in the dark like this, so close to Sylvain, he can't find the spite he derision he's been trying so hard to wear like armor. 

"Because I've learned that some mistakes are made earlier than we think." 

"That doesn't make sense," Felix tells him. 

"It doesn't have to. None of that matters now. I'm going to protect you no matter what. Even if you do leave me. I'll make sure I change the future." 

"I'm not the Felix you knew," Felix mutters, because it feels necessary to say, because he doesn't know what else to say in response, or how to discern what he actually feels for Sylvain when even the basis of everything he once knew has been disrupted. But he knows this much is true: he is not the Felix that Sylvain is looking for. 

"I know," Sylvain replies. He tugs Felix closer, hooks his leg over him and rests his chin atop his head. "But you will be." 

He says it so confidently that Felix nearly believes him. 

***

Over the course of the next day, Sylvain begins to share small details about the future. Most of the stories are inane: "I caught you eating sweets once," and, "You never told me you had a thing for singing, I had to figure that one out myself." Until he gets to his last one: the story of a brief end-of-winter calm before a war that would span years. 

"I think you knew that was it for us," Sylvain says from where he lounges on the bed, wearing a smile and appearing cheerful, but Felix can already see through the cracks. It hasn't taken him long to piece this Sylvain together with the Sylvain he knew, to find his tells, to note where he is most broken. "You were so sweet that last day, and you're _never_ sweet." 

"Shut up," Felix grumbles. He's seated at the table, oiling their blades since there isn't much else to do when trapped in a hut. 

"Usually you're all passion and fire, but you kissed me real slow —" 

"I said shut up!" Felix yells, his stomach flip-flopping again, his cheeks reddening. He stands as he says it and attempts to throw the blade on the table, but it slides within his grip and nicks his thumb. 

Sylvain is in front of Felix before he knows it, grasping his palm and examining the wound, frowning down at him in concern. "Sorry, that was dumb of me. I should have waited to tease you." 

"You shouldn't tease me at all," Felix says, looking away. "I don't want to hear that." 

"Would you rather — oh. The blood —" 

Suddenly, Felix's finger is enveloped by lip and tongue, teeth lightly grazing along the pad as Sylvain's mouth tightens to suck away the blood. Felix looks back, furious but too caught up in the sensation to say as much, especially once he sees Sylvain's head bob and and forth as he tries to clean his thumb completely. Sylvain holds his stare while he sucks, as if he likes that Felix is watching. 

It's unnerving. It's uncomfortable. But Felix's body responds quickly, alight with a newfound yearning. 

"Sylvain," Felix protests weakly. 

Sylvain releases his thumb and smiles at Felix, brushing a knuckle against his cheek. "I told you. I'm here to take care of you. In every way." As he says it, he steps between Felix's legs, nudging them apart with his own. The fabric of Felix’s pants is pulled taut, exposing his reaction to Sylvain’s mouth. 

Sylvain leans over him, resting one hand on the back of the chair. He brings his knee up to Felix’s groin and presses it against his cock. Felix inhales sharply, feeling an ache for more contact. He tries to glare at Sylvain — attempts to resist the urge to grind against him. Sylvain leans down until their foreheads are touching. "I'll show you," he murmurs as he reaches behind Felix’s head to untie his hair, "How well I can take care of you." 

Felix wants this — his body is ready for it — and yet he also dreads it. He feels that allowing this will decide his future, will change everything that was once laid out before him. He should say no, demand to go home, and yet when he opens his mouth to protest, all he can do is breathe. 

"I'll listen to you," Sylvain promises, nudging his knee against Felix's cock again, creating just enough friction to make Felix want more. "I'll believe you," he adds, brushing his lips against Felix's. "And I'll tell you what you always wanted to hear." 

"What would you know —" Felix tries to counter weakly, but Sylvain brushes his knee over his cock again, and his words are cut off by a whimper. 

Sylvain's dips his head and whispers in Felix's ear, offers him the words he has wanted to hear his whole life, but especially needs now — especially after what Sylvain has told him about his future self: "You are you, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. There is no one else, and you belong to no one." 

Tears prick at the corner of Felix's eyes as Sylvain finally kisses him with full lip and tongue. His knee moves against his cock, this time without stopping, over and over again until Felix is moaning into Sylvain's lips, grasping at Sylvain's shirt, and then shuddering through a climax that ripples through his body. 

Sylvain pulls back to look at him — sees the unshed tears in his eyes, the color in his cheeks, the way Felix bites his bottom lip like he did when they were children. "You're gorgeous, Fe. Don't ever change." 

Felix shoves him back with shaking arms. "Don't call me that. And I can take care of a little cut without your help." 

Sylvain smiles, like he so often does. It's bright and happy — if you aren't looking for the darkness. 

***

Felix comes to the conclusion that this is his fault. If he lost his resolve and remained with Dimitri, if he became yet another shield who sacrificed himself for another Blaiddyd, then his lack of a future is on him. It isn't Sylvain's to fix; rather, Sylvain is Felix's to fix. He can help undo the damage — can choose to remain with Sylvain and shun the future that will break him. 

And yet he hesitates, because at his core lies the issue that leads to the future Sylvain describes: Felix doesn't necessarily want to give up on the people who have disappointed him, hurt him, scared him. As angry and frustrated as he is, he doesn't want to turn his back on them. 

The next day, he's supposed to give Sylvain his decision, but he doesn't mention it, and neither does Sylvain. Instead, Sylvain shares more stories. And Felix begins to share some of his own. He talks about the Western Rebellion and what it was like to see Dimitri turn feral, like a monster. 

Sylvain listens. 

And Felix wonders if he can believe in a promising future — in a life that isn't shrouded by the boar or arrested by his brother's death. 

That night, when Sylvain undresses, Felix watches him peel away the layers until his skin is bared. He looks over the scars that map the future for them both. He thinks about his own skin, unmarred in comparison. 

"This is my favorite," Sylvain says, pointing to one just below his heart — the clean, slender scar made by a sharp blade. 

When Felix approaches the bed, Sylvain pulls him into his lap and kisses him slowly, passionately, gently parting his lips with his tongue. Felix responds belatedly, moves his tongue in less sure motions, allows his fingers to locate the scar below Sylvain's heart. 

"I love you," Sylvain tells Felix as he pulls back. "Everything about you." 

"Don't say that," Felix tries to stand but Sylvain grabs his wrist. 

"You need to know that you're loved, Felix. You need to believe it." 

Felix doesn't know why those words make his eyes sting, why Sylvain always brings him so close to breaking his resolve not to cry. He hates him for it, hates the way Sylvain seems to know exactly what he needs — the way Sylvain tugs him back into his lap and kisses his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. The way his hand finds his groin and rests atop it until Felix tries to grind against it. 

"Tell me again," Felix breathes as Sylvain's hand wanders under his shirt, along his ribs, his fingers rubbing circles over Felix's nipple. "Tell me — _ah!_ " Sylvain squeezes his nipple, harder and harder, until Felix is arching in his lap. 

"You're Felix," Sylvain murmurs, pulling on the collar of Felix's shirt to expose his shoulder, pressing his lips to it and then sucking hard enough to make Felix cry out — hard enough to mark. When he’s satisfied with Felix’s reaction, he raises his head to say, "Felix Hugo Fraldarius." 

Now he pulls Felix's shirt off and gently guides him into lying on the bed so he can remove the rest of his clothes — his pants and undergarments. Felix is already shamefully hard, embarrassingly desperate for Sylvain's words and touch. 

"You're not a shield." Sylvain bends to kiss Felix's thighs. "You're you." 

He kisses Felix's cock and Felix whimpers out a half-broken, "Please —" 

Sylvain grasps his hand. "Touch yourself," he instructs, guiding his hand to his cock and moving it for him until Felix takes over. 

Felix strokes himself while Sylvain takes off the rest of his clothes and lathers both his hand and his hardening cock with oil. 

"I'll make it feel good," he promises, "but if you want to stop at any point, you tell me, okay?" 

Felix always wants to stop. He wanted to stop before Sylvain took him away. He wanted to stop when Sylvain told him about Dimitri. He wanted to stop when Sylvain made him come with his knee alone, when he forced Felix to feel vulnerable beneath him. And he wants to stop now, even as he strokes himself and pulls back his legs so Sylvain can touch him and carve through his feelings in a whole new way. 

He also wants to feel it again — what it is to be someone's sole focus. What it is to be seen. 

"Enough," Felix whines, too needy. "Don't treat me like a child." 

Sylvain lies beside him — kisses him passionately while his fingers gently nudge Felix's hand away from his cock. Sylvain slowly runs his slick hand over it, up and then down again, and it feels so much _more_ than when Felix does it himself. Felix could come like this, by Sylvain's touch, easily. He's nearly there already, losing focus on the kiss, making soft, pleading sounds, aching for release — but Sylvain slows his hand once more, and then stops stroking him entirely. 

He pulls back far enough to look at Felix's face. "Tell me you want me." 

"What?" Felix asks, blinking at him in a daze. Sylvain strokes him again and he gasps, his hips bucking into his touch. 

"Tell me you want me," Sylvain repeats in an empty tone. It unsettles Felix, makes him feel off balance. He tries to study Sylvain's face, but every time he grows more concerned than aroused, Sylvain runs his hand over his cock again, driving all thoughts from his mind. 

"I — _ah! Sylvain_ —" 

Sylvain releases him, his hand dipping lower, skirting across Felix's balls and trailing downward until he finds his hole. His finger circles the rim and Felix groans, eager for him to push it inside. 

"Tell me," Sylvain says again, still calculating and cold, but Felix is too engulfed in his need to care. 

" _I want you_ ," Felix exhales in a rush. 

Sylvain eases his finger in. The sensation is immediately overwhelming. Felix tenses, grabbing at Sylvain's arm to steady himself as a yearning spreads throughout his body. He pants and utters desperate, wordless sounds as Sylvain's finger pushes all the way inside of him. 

Sylvain leans over him again, nuzzling and nipping down his chest while his finger moves in and out of Felix's body. His lips suck at Felix's nipple, his teeth grazing against it, and then he bites, hard enough to make Felix shiver through another surge of desire. Felix reaches for him again, hand entangling in his hair, all of his actions mindless as he rides out the onslaught of pleasure. 

"You're doing so good," Sylvain murmurs against his chest as he presses in another finger and begins to stretch Felix, opening him up, exposing him to even more sensation. Felix throws back his head and grinds down on Sylvain, any hope of self-control lost. 

Sylvain spreads him until Felix thinks he can't take it anymore, a sob building in his chest, torn between wanting release so fervently he'd do anything for it, but also caught in a mounting feeling of powerlessness. He's afraid of — 

Sylvain pulls his fingers out of Felix and in the process, rubs a spot within him that makes Felix cry out loudly, unhindered, and steals the wherewithal he needs to be embarrassed by it. 

"Touch me," Sylvain says softly, still completely in control. He takes Felix's hand and guides him as he had earlier — only this time, he has Felix touch his cock, and he closes his eyes to savor it. 

Felix's hand is shaky and uncoordinated, but he strokes Sylvain's cock until Sylvain's breath quickens and he murmurs, "Perfect." 

Then Sylvain moves between Felix's legs, pushing them back so he can spread Felix into accommodating him. Felix feels small like this, lying beneath Sylvain, who has always loomed so large above him — he feels so young. 

Sylvain presses his cock against Felix's hole — lightly, teasingly. "Tell me, Felix." 

" _Please_ ," Felix begs, and it's wrong, he shouldn't be so weak, but he feels like he's on the brink of breaking down. He needs this — needs Sylvain to give him this. "I need —" 

Sylvain pushes his cock inside. The pressure is slow, steady, burning. Felix feels momentary panic. He tenses, curling his hands into the furs. It's too much, even once Sylvain is all the way in, filling him up. Felix thinks he'll have to shove Sylvain away, finally bring himself to tell Sylvain to stop — 

But then Sylvain begins to move, long thrusts that ease Felix's body into relaxing, into transitioning back to pleasure, to _wanting_. Sylvain pushes his leg further back so he can thrust deeper, lean closer, and kiss Felix. 

Felix can't kiss him back — not like this, with his body seized by a pleasure so intense, he once again loses himself. He can only moan against Sylvain's mouth while Sylvain pumps into him, over and over again. 

Sylvain's breathing grows erratic, his thrusts increasingly frenetic. "Tell me —" he pants as he reaches his hand between them. "— that you're mine." 

Felix pleads wordlessly, aching for the touch that Sylvain's hand promises, to finally be driven beyond the brink. He would tell Sylvain anything at all, promise him anything he wanted, if only Sylvain would touch him again. 

So he gasps: "I'm — I'm yours —" 

Sylvain hoists his leg and fucks him in a way that hits that spot again, over and over. Felix's body writhes in response, his mind unable to make sense of anything except stark and unrelenting pleasure. Then Sylvain takes his cock into his hand and Felix finally comes — his whole body jerks as it tears through him, overtakes him, and for one prolonged moment, completely claims everything he is. Then Sylvain releases him and it subsides, leaving Felix shaking, a mess on his stomach, an ache in his heart. 

Sylvain thrusts quickly, only a few more times, but those few times are excruciatingly overstimulating. Felix shuts his eyes as Sylvain tenses, tries not to cry out again as Sylvain reaches his own orgasm. Felix feels his cock pulse within him while Sylvain moans above him. 

Felix keeps his eyes closed as Sylvain pulls out, wipes him down with a shirt, and takes him into his arms. He keeps them closed through the murmurs of praise and reassurances. 

He does not open them when Sylvain kisses him and tells him he loves him. 

He can't bring himself to look at Sylvain to see love and affection when all he feels is a sense of loss. 

***

Sylvain tells him that night. He wraps his arms around Felix, who is tense and uncomfortable in his tight hold, and shares the story of how it happened: of how they met on the battlefield and broke their childhood promise. How it was Sylvain who raised his lance first. How Felix cut into him, right below his heart, and how to this day Sylvain wishes his blade had struck him just a little higher. He blames himself, and swears to fix everything, promises not to break anymore promises, pleads with Felix to stay. He weeps as he explains that he can't live without him, not again, not anymore. 

He outlines a plan: how they can travel for a few years, and after that, maybe settle in Almyra because he knows a guy, or will know a guy, who might help them out. He swears they'll be happy, but more than that, they'll be alive. They'll be together. 

Felix raises his hand to Sylvain's face and brushes away tears, feeling detached — feeling responsible, burdened, and somehow still alone. When Sylvain looks at him in surprise, Felix isn't sure he really sees him — not anymore. 

Felix considers that part of himself that still wants to save Dimitri. He acknowledges the part of himself that still wants to make amends with his father. He thinks about how those pieces of himself could be so damaging, could mar his entire path forward simply by existing — simply because he's so weak. 

"I'll go with you," he says, making a promise of his own, vowing to sever himself from everything in an effort to do something right. 

Sylvain falls asleep while holding him. Felix remains in his arms. 

And as he listens to the sound of Sylvain breathing, Felix cries.


End file.
